Please, James
by flipflopswithsocks
Summary: Lily, don't you know? Everyone feels pressure sometimes... oneshot, Lily takes her stress to an extreme.


**Please, James..**

* * *

Fat. 

The thought moves into my head for the thousandth time that day, and for the first time, I shake it determinedly.

For most drastic actions, people can't necessarily place all the blame of the world entirely on one specific incident, one specific point in time.

Then again, maybe I'm stating a complete falsity. Some people manage to do horrible deeds because of many instances in their pasts that have driven them to do so. Some blame all of their problems on one cataclysmic event. As for mine …

_James._

I sit here, scrawling on this mangled parchment in the dead of night. The lack of moonlight casts the world into its dead abyss. In the deafening silence, one becomes many times more aware of the naturally overlooked and takings for granted of one's everyday drifting stupor. A glisten of sickening, nervous sweat on the upper lip; the haunting owls gliding forebodingly, silently, invisibly into the gloom.

I'm having troubles knowing exactly how to phrase what I know must be said. A veil hangs, clouding my murky thoughts; a heavy wool blanket draping over my very thoughts and soul—

_I don't know how exactly to ask you, so I'll keep it as simple, but-_

The slightest twitch from a few beds down and instantly my declining strength returns in a violent rush of adrenaline. My head throbs painfully and the insistent pounding in my head makes me clench in a clammy unease.

My silence – hardly breathing – the unrelenting paranoia – please, no – make it stop – I don't want to-

The all too familiar feeling of slipping away is upon me, reaching out with hellish ferocity, the putrid hands of Death clawing my face, my arms; pulling my withering hair, twisting in a sadistic grin.

I'm wasting away, slipping out like a lost feather on the loose breath of wind…

* * *

Rude. The great word to describe my horrid awakening.

My eyes wrenched open. Without moving, they swiveled, straining in their very sockets, taking in my forgotten surroundings. Where am I? What could have happ-

Then comes the torrent; the flooding thoughts. Everything's coming back now, like it always does; my shrunken arms and legs ache in the drowning fear.

As a crazed acrobat, I spring from behind the hangings, almost tearing them to the ground. My dizzying head slows me; my agility shocked even myself. I knew the twisted feelings of Death drawing nearer, raising its clawed fist high in triumph.

My lightness allows me to streak across the room silently. The early sun establishes long creeping shadows along the numbing stone floor.

Breaking into the bathroom like a madman, I stream for the basin, my bony fingers already halfway down my throat.

Then the sick comes. I squint and feel sharp tears snake along to the corners of my eyes. Relentlessly, the twisted innings reveal their foul workings into the basin. Again and again, incessantly-

Finally I allow myself to stop. My bruised and dirty knuckles are washed, and so away to the very small amount of pre-breakfast bile. Quite exhausted, I trudge back to my bed on the far side of the spacious room. Still, no one stirs.

Efficiency is key. I have been very efficient at hiding- I always manage to direct the attention away from my weight. "I'm tired because of the project I was up late for…" "I made noise in my sleep? Must have been because of this dream I had…" "I'm just stressed, no need to worry…"

Yes, I was very good at hiding. Until now, when I'm breaking my own rules.

The briefest of glances at the bedside mirror says everything. The black rings under my eyes that have slowly been darkening; the pale, pallid skin pasting my sallow face; my once full, gorgeous, richly red hair now falling around my shoulders in feeble tangles, my pronounced shoulder blades, no longer there breasts. Worst of all are those eyes. The deep green passion has faded away into a haunted silhouette of what once was. All in less than a moment's glance.

Shudder, cringe. The flaming hate, I feel the fanatical addiction, the want, the need to go back to the basin and unceremoniously relieve my stress again. For once, I hold my ground.

After what seems an eternity, I reach my place of the night before. I unsheathe the parchment still resting there in the place it had fallen the previous night. A broken angel. I had made up my mind, let it be my deliverance.

_please, I need help.._

* * *

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all distinctive likenesses thereof are either copyright or registered trademarks of J. K. Rowling or another official affiliate. This story is an unofficial fan fiction, no copyright infringement is intended. 


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